


Mocaccino with Love

by gaensebluemchen



Category: Tintenwelt-Trilogie | Inkheart Trilogy - Cornelia Funke
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 09:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19951309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaensebluemchen/pseuds/gaensebluemchen
Summary: When Mo stepped into his favourite café for the first time in months, he did not expect the cute guy behind the counter to still remember his favourite order...





	Mocaccino with Love

**Author's Note:**

> First time I've written a coffeeshopAU, I don't think I've seen another one in the fandom so far? 
> 
> I do not own Inkheart or any of the characters.

The first time Mo had seen the Bear&Marten Café, he had immediately known that this might become his new favourite place. It was located in a small sidestreet, almost hidden between taller, newer, and more impressive buildings. Boston ivy was growing on the walls, with insects and birds hiding behind the green leaves. The inside of the little café was friendly and cozy. There were always customers, but it was never too crowded. Mo guessed that most of the regulars were students. The place had a calming atmosphere, ideal for escaping the troubles of everyday life.

Besides, it had the best Mocaccino that Mo had ever had.

It had been almost half a year since Mo had last been here. He had to travel because of his work. But when he stepped inside the café for the first time in months, it was just as it had been the last time. The same welcoming atmosphere, the same comfortable chairs, and the same cute, strawberry blonde man behind the counter. Mo did not know his name – none of the employees had nametags. He went to the counter, and before he could order, the man looked up at him with a smile.

"One Caffè Mocha?" he asked.

Mo blinked in surprise.

"How do you still remember that? It's been almost six months!"

"Just a good memory," the man said casually and turned around to prepare Mo's coffee.

"Well, I've been working abroad," Mo said.

"I'm a bookbinder," he continued, when the other man gave him an interested look over his shoulder.

"I see... Going where you find some work."

"Yes, it's a little complicated sometimes. I mean, I love my work, but sometimes..."

"I know what you mean. I used to work as a street performer. Sometimes still do." He nodded to a little poster on the wall, advertising a fire show.

Mo looked at the poster. It offered information when and where the next show would be, and a nice photo of a man spitting fire. Shirtless. He gulped.

"That's... That's you?" he asked a little flustered. _Smooth, Mortimer, smooth..._ he then scolded himself.

"Yeah. You're welcome to come. Here's your coffee."

* * *

_Dustfinger, the Fire-Dancer_ , the poster had promised.

Mo had not been sure what to expect, but it had not been this... this magic. That was the best description, he thought, magic. The way Dustfinger had whirled around the flames, had let them rise high into the air. Not once had he seemed afraid, on the contrary. Dustfinger had been happy, truly happy. Something about his performance had made that really clear – that Dustfinger loved the flames, and Mo could almost believe that the flames loved him back.

Finally, Dustfinger put out the fires, and while Mo could still see the afterimages of the blazing, snake-like trails, the fire-dancer approached him.

"Hey," he said, "Nice that you came!"

Mo could only look at him.

"That was awesome!" he said, almost breathless.

Dustfinger just smiled. Then he cocked his head, and asked Mo if he would like to go and drink something with him.

* * *

They ended up talking about everything and nothing. Mo learned that Dustfinger had had a bit of a difficult childhood. He had moved out at sixteen, and lived as a street performer together with his best friend, until they had decided to settle down and open the Bear&Marten Café. "Dustfinger" was originally just a nickname that he then started to use as a stagename, but since that it had somehow grown into something more, something like an identity. All of his friends called him that. Mo could understand that. Dustfinger's name suited him well, he thought.

Mo talked a lot about his work, how much he loved books, and how difficult some of his clients could be. Dustfinger almost choked on his drink when Mo imitated the voice of one especially pedantic collector of bibles who insisted on watching Mo work and making useless (and usually wrong) comments on everything Mo did, every five minutes, for a total of one week until Mo finally told him what he thought of that.

During their conversation, Mo also learned that Dustfinger was single, too. He could not help feeling a fluttering piece of hope rise in his chest. Talking with Dustfinger was... special. It was as if they could understand each other perfectly, as if they had already known each other before, in another life. It was pretty corny, Mo thought, but they really were on the same wavelength. And then there was the way Dustfinger smiled and tilted his head. It made him feel like a teenager again. It drove him up the wall. It made him want to cup those cheeks with the reddish stubble and kiss those pretty lips.

It made the top of the table look very interesting, as Mo tried to look at anything else but Dustfinger's mouth. The man did not ask for this, he probably wants to be friends instead, Mo told himself, don't ruin this. As much as he wanted to pull the other man into a hug and kiss him when they left the bar and parted ways, he only gave him an equivocal, but harmless pat on the shoulder.

* * *

The next day, Mo went to the Bear&Marten unusually early. He had been awake for the most part of the night and had thought about the evening again and again. He had finally come to the conclusion that he had to see Dustfinger again. He wanted to ask him if they could meet again and talk. Mo needed some clarity.

However, Dustfinger was not standing behind the counter when Mo came in. Instead, there was a handsome black man, chatting amiably with another regular. When he spotted Mo, he waved for him to come closer.

"You're Mortimer, yes? The one with the Mocaccinos?" he asked.

Mo nodded, a little confused.

The other man smiled and gave Mo a small, folded up piece of paper.

"Dustfinger won't be here until three, but he wanted me to give you this. He said he was a little bit nervous yesterday and, well, he forgot it."

Mo unfolded the paper, looked at it, and smiled. Scrawled in a messy handwriting, there was a telephone number. Apparently, Dustfinger had doodled a little heart in one corner. It looked as if he had then tried to make it look like an inconspicuous, formless scribble instead. It made Mo smile even more.

"He really likes you, you know?" The man leaned towards Mo conspiratorially. "Don't tell him I said that, but he was talking about you all the time. And he was really sad when you suddenly disappeared. I told him he should have just talked to you. I'm glad that he finally did."

"Thank you," Mo smiled back at him and waited for his coffee.


End file.
